[Academy RP] Tyrannis Delenda Est: The War for Novanar | Part 1: Gott géint Land; God against country.

[Novanar]

Chapter 1

16 July 2023

Kalkburg, Novanar

 

Lt. Robin Manon hated war. The deafening explosions. The homes turned to rubble and then into fine dust. The death toll. God, the death toll. The things she saw would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. That included what she was looking at right now. Bodies. Hundreds of bodies. No, ‘bodies’ was doing the sight a disservice. A terrifying number of corpses lay in twenty by ten meter ditches at the bottom of the hill, charred beyond recognition. This was the NKN’s doing. It was always them.

Lt. Manon commanded the 3rd Platoon of the 3rd Company of the 111th Revolutionary Guard Battalion of the Volksheer. The 111th had been sent to clean up the remaining New Church forces in the area. The enemy probably thought they were ‘cleaning up’ too.

“Sick bastards, aren’t they?” Lt. Lucien Cloutier, commander of 4th Platoon, stepped in beside her.

“‘Sick’ doesn’t begin to describe it,” she responded. There was a pause, and then, “Why’d you come here, Lucien?”

“Well, considering the residents have taken it upon themselves to recover and identify the bodies,” he pointed downhill, “and our comrades are currently resting; I believe it would be wise to speak with the pastor. Ask him how all of this happened.”

“Wëllem Lane, right? Church of the Hand of God? The guy you got that intel from?”

“That’s him.”

Lt. Manon sighed. “Might as well.”

She turned and saw, down the road, three vehicles approaching. Two of them were military and likely from her battalion. They were escorting a white vehicle with the word ‘PRESS’ emblazoned on the hood and doors.

“Best to leave before we get caught up in an interview,” Lt. Cloutier said with a smile.

“Seconded,” came the response from Lt. Manon.

A short drive and far too many potholes later, they were in front of the Kalkburg branch of the Church of the Hand of God. Its stone steps led up to a pair of large white oak doors. The building itself was made of the same stone and sat in the corner of a small block. The doors were wide open, and people were entering and exiting the building in a flurry, carrying supplies.

Churches had become centers of community organization following the beginning of the war. This one was no different, which meant that this pastor probably had a lot of sway with the community.

Both lieutenants ascended the steps and walked into the building. The layout was typical for a church. Two columns of long wooden seats, flanked a central aisle that led up to a podium and altar that both sat on a stage — the former up higher than the latter. Next to the altar stood a man who was likely the pastor. He was a long, thin thing with wiry limbs and the mane of black hair. A pair of silver spectacles sat upon his nose, likely reading glasses, considering the fact that he was currently reviewing a document he held in his hand.

“Pastor Lane!” Lucien called.

The man turned, and upon seeing Lt. Cloutier, a bright white smile spread across his face. “Friend!” His eyes fell on Lt. Manon. “Friends!”

Lt. Manon couldn’t help but smile. The man had an energy about him — an energy that was hard to describe. The two lieutenants made their way to the stage. They shook his hand (he’d put the document down on the altar) and Lt. Manon introduced herself.

“Lieutenant Robin Manon, 111th Revolutionary Guard Battalion, 3rd Company, 3rd Platoon. A pleasure to meet you, Pastor Lane.”

“You as well,” he said, “Now, while all are welcome here, I imagine you two didn’t just come here to chat.”

“There are quite the number of things to discuss,” Lt. Cloutier noted. “But our primary concern is the bodies.”

Pastor Lane’s face grew dark at the mention of the atrocity that’d occurred just on the outskirts of the city.

His face drawn into hard lines, he said, “We’d best go to my office; this one’ll take a while to tell.”